


7 Years

by HansonPhreek



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansonPhreek/pseuds/HansonPhreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small snippets in the life of Ron Weasley</p>
            </blockquote>





	7 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Inspired by the song “Seven Years” by Lukas Graham. Anything in italics are lyrics directly taken from the song. Written using the following quote prompt (for Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien): So they both lived, delighting in their own devices, and feared no assaults, nor wrath, nor any end of their wickedness. I'm butchering the quote up a bit to make it work though.  
> Special Thanks: To you, dear reader. Without you, why would I be doing this?  
> Spoilers:/u> Almost epilogue compliant.  
> Warnings: None  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but this story.

_Once I was seven years old, my momma told me  
Go make yourself some friends our you'll be lonely  
Once I was seven years old_

Ron Weasley sat in his room on a sunny spring afternoon, staring out his window at his brothers playing with some of the local Muggle children in a nearby field. He sighed quietly, wondering why he wasn't out there with them. But then he remembered, they weren't his friends. He frowned and turned away from the window, staring instead at a blank stretch of wall.

His bedroom door opened and his mom entered the room. “Oh, Ron,” Mrs. Weasley said in surprise, “I didn't expect you to be in here!” She sat down a large clothes basket on his bed and smiled warmly at her youngest son. “Why aren't you outside?”

Ron shrugged lightly. “I dunno, Momma.”

Mrs. Weasley hummed quietly as she set to work putting away his clothes for a moment. When she finished the turned once again to the young boy, sitting next to her basket on his bed. “Ron, I know it's been hard for you making friends with all your older brothers already so popular. But you're seven years old, dear. Go get yourself some friends or you'll be lonely.”

Ron frowned again. “I know, Momma.”

Mrs. Weasley patted him gently on the shoulder. “Just keep trying, dear, you'll find some friends soon.”

Ron nodded halfheartedly as his mother stood up and left the room. He wasn't sure he'd ever make any friends. But he did, eventually.

_Once I was eleven years old, my daddy told me  
Go get yourself a wife or you'll be lonely  
Once I was eleven years old_

Ron Weasley sat in the kitchen with his father as his mother made dinner. The rest of his siblings were out in the garden chasing gnomes around and laughing loudly. Ron and his father watched Mrs. Weasley in comfortable silence as the woman hummed quietly to herself, moving about the kitchen with a practiced ease. Mr. Weasley smiled fondly at the love of his life and then turned to his youngest son and spoke in a quiet voice that his wife would not be able to hear. “Ron, you are now eleven years old and about to start at Hogwarts. Before you leave I want to offer a short story and a little advise.”

Ron looked curiously up at his father. “Of course, Daddy.”

“Many years ago, when I was just a young and innocent fifth year I met a young lady that would change my life,” Mr. Weasley told him. She was sweet and caring, but also strong and brave. She cared for all those around her and would fight fiercely for those she considered friends. She was smart and had a great sense of humor. But best of all she challenged everyone she crossed paths with to become a better person simply by expecting the best of each person.

“It took me a little over a year to work up the courage to ask her out. She didn't even hesitate to say yes, and before I could even process what was happening we were madly in love. I knew she would be the woman I would spend the rest of my life with.” Mr. Weasley smiled fondly at his wife once more. “And I was right.”

Ron looked over at his mother and smiled too. He'd heard this story before but it always made him smile. The idea that his parents had been school sweethearts was one that always amazed the young redhead. His parents romance was like a fairy tale to him. A fairy tale that he never tired of.

Mr. Weasley looked back at his son. “And now for the advice. As you head off to Hogwarts, remember the following: Go get yourself a wife or you'll be lonely. Look for that one person that is meant for you as you roam the halls of that ancient school. She could always be right around the next corner.”

And she nearly was just around the next corner.

_Once I was twenty years old, my story got told  
I was writing about everything I saw before me  
Once I was twenty years old_

Ron Weasley sat in his loft apartment with bits of crumpled up parchment strewn all around him. He wrote fervently, his quill nearly a blur. Sometimes writing came naturally to him, like now. But other times it wasn't quite so easy. The Wizarding world wanted to know the story of the end of Voldemort. Harry's story. His story. Who better to tell it then someone who lived it? It was difficult, trying to get the words out in a way that explained not only the actions but also the emotions and motivations behind all that had taken place over the years.

The story had been told through a series of article nearly two years previous, just after the final battle, but not like he was telling it now. Now he would tell the whole story. Starting from the moment Harry discovered he was a wizard and ending with the death of a monster. Harry had given him permission, understanding his need to have the truth told for once. He had even filled in all the blanks; all the parts he had missed when he'd been injured, or just not there. Hermione had been skeptical. “Are you sure you can do it, Ron?” she had asked.

“I've grown up a lot since then,” Ron had assured her.

“You're only 20. That's not really that much older than when it ended.”

Ron didn't care what she said. It was going to be a great book. Or maybe a great series of books.

_Soon we'll be thirty years old, our songs have been sold  
We've traveled around the world and we're still roaming  
Soon we'll be thirty years old_

Ron Weasley sat in the waiting room of the Portkey Office in Madrid, dozing quietly. He was waiting while his publicist arranged his trip home to London for a much needed break. At 30, Ron had been the best selling author in the entire wizarding world for almost eight years and he was tired. Tired of the never ending book signings and meet and greets. Tired of all the traveling. Just tired. But he didn't see an end. Not with the way the publicist was talking.

He would return to London for three short weeks before he left for the Americas. Another long book tour would follow. Likely followed by another. And another. Would there be an end to it all? He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen his family or his friends. His relationship with Hermione had been on hold for so long he worried that she would forget him and move on. This break might give him the chance he'd been looking for. The chance to put the ring he'd bought a year ago to good use.

He jerked awake as a door opened to his right. “Is it time yet?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Almost.”

_Soon I'll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold?  
Or will I have a lot of children who can hold me?  
Soon I'll be sixty years old_

Ron Weasley sat in the living room of his large home with his wife. The sounds of laughing children drifted in through the nearby window and Ron smiled fondly at nothing in particular. He was sixty years old already; where had the time gone? Time had seemed to fly by recently, but it had all been good times. A child of about 7 ran through the room, chased by several older children and Ron laughed.

“You're in a good mood today, love,” Hermione commented, smiling at him.

“How could I not be with a wife like you and a houseful of children?” 

Another child streaked into the room and jumped onto the couch next to him. “Daddy!” the young girl exclaimed, hugging him tightly. Ron silently thanked Merlin for his luck as he squeezed the girl back. It still amazed him that they had been able to have children so late in life; he had spent so much of his youth roaming the world promoting his books.

A knock on the door distracted him and he stood up, gently setting his daughter on the floor. He opened the door and grinned at his best friend and sister. Behind them he saw their three older children trying to tame the hoard of small children that crowded around them. “Alright, mate?” Harry asked.

“Never better.”

So he lived, delighting in his own devices, and feared no assaults, nor wrath, nor any end of his peacefulness.


End file.
